


Alone

by Espereth



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Community: asscreedkinkmeme, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-07-09
Packaged: 2017-12-18 06:12:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/876542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Espereth/pseuds/Espereth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Subject 16 is forced by Abstergo to unlock a repressed memory in which Ezio is tortured by Cesare Borgia. He must draw on his own inner reserves - and Ezio's - for survival.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has some wacky errors but I haven't gotten around to fixing it. I wrote it before we met Clay Kaczmarek, so Subject 16's name is Michael (hence why I haven't listed him in the tags... weird since he's the main character o_o) and the characterisation is just made up. I guess I should fix this story but I probably won't ever get around to it, so I'm posting it anyway.

Ezio was pushing the limits of his endurance. He was dizzy from hunger and lack of sleep. The pain was no longer distinct in the various parts of his body that had been abused at the hands of Cesare Borgia’s torturers, and had become one confused, agonised mess. His fingernails, torn out one by one, were all gone, he suspected, but he could not remember. It must have been hours since they had moved on to other devices. His shoulders were torn from the _strappado_ , and their new position - with his wrists tied behind his back as he struggled to keep his feet before Cesare - made him dizzy with pain. Every breath hurt.

"Where is your base?" Cesare said.

"Fuck you," Ezio croaked, and Cesare smiled.

It was a distinct victory for Cesare, and Ezio cursed himself. Knowing that at some point he would no longer be aware of what he had said and what he had not, Ezio had opted to say nothing at all. He had held strong for what felt like weeks, through Cesare's visits at irregular hours to oversee his torture sessions. No food, no sleep. His guards now forced him to stand constantly and beat him if he slumped or fell. He had no sense of time any more. He had given up hoping that his Brotherhood would come for him; all that was left was his silence. And now he had lost that as well.

"So, my men have left you your tongue after all. I was beginning to suspect that they had already cut it out." Cesare moved closer to look into his eyes, and the two men stared at each other - one shaking from pain and exhaustion, the other fascinated by his endurance and refusal to submit. "Just as well. You will find your tongue useful if you want me to spare your brother."

Two guards dragged in a young man, blindfolded and stumbling, his robes stained with blood. Ezio slumped in despair.

"You should be proud of this one," said Cesare. "I am told that he would not even give his name until my men flogged him nearly insensible." He smiled, with a mixture of amusement and grudging respect. "Most impolite, but eventually it was determined that he is called Piero."

Cesare clapped Piero on his bloodied back, and he shuddered, making a choked noise in his throat. His knees buckled, and Ezio knew he would have fallen had the guards not held him upright.

"Does brave young Piero deserve to suffer for your reticence, Auditore? Has he not suffered enough?"

" _Maestro_ , don't talk to them," Piero said hoarsely. "It was not so bad, and you know I am prepared to die."

Cesare tore off Piero's blindfold and held his dagger to the boy's eye.

Ezio's heart pounded in terror. "No. Please, Cesare -"

"Where is your base, Ezio?"

"No!"

The chamber wavered and glitched.

_"What's the matter now, Miss Stillman?"_

_"He's desynchronising again. What the hell did you expect?"_

Cesare pushed his dagger inside Piero's eye and scooped.

_Subject Sixteen preset heart rate - limit exceeded. Safety mechanism activating. Lower heart rate to continue this memory._

_"We can't ask him to keep doing this, Warren. Michael synchronises so closely with Ezio that his physiological responses mirror those of his ancestor almost exactly. We're not going to get him past this point."_

Michael's own scream echoed in his ears, distinct from Ezio's but somehow the same. The guards dropped Piero, the way they always did. The young Assassin fell to his knees, sobbing, hands clutching and pressing over his empty eye socket.

_Subject Sixteen, heart rate has not stabilized. Automated desynchronisation in three - two - one. Desynchronising._

Flickering torchlight became a cold fluorescent glare. Piero's good eye met Ezio's, blood pouring from between his fingers. Then Michael saw the lab and Lucy Stillman's face, the screen of the animus lifting to let him out.

Stillman's cool hand felt his forehead. "It's okay -" she started, but broke off mid-sentence as he rolled from the animus and fell to the floor on his hands and knees, retching.


	2. Chapter 2

"Breathe, Michael," said Stillman. Her heels clicked on the floor, quick but calm. She laid a hand on his bent back as he vomited on the sterile floor.

"Oh, for Heaven's sake," muttered Vidic. He left the room, leaving Stillman to attend to Michael. Her hand moved to his shoulder.

"Get off me," he snarled, and she snatched her hand away as though she'd been burned. For a second, he felt guilty. Then in his mind he saw Piero's face - what was left of it - and his stomach heaved again. And again.

When it was over he wiped his mouth on his hand and sat on the floor with his back against the base of the animus, tears running from the corners of his eyes. He could still feel it all - Ezio’s torn shoulders, the raw quick of his ruined fingernails, the bruised burn of cracked ribs. Worse, though, were his guilt and devastation as his apprentice was mutilated. The residue of the memory stayed with Michael longer every time. 

Stillman returned with a mop and bucket, and a cup of water. 

A reflex acquired during his hunger strike compelled Michael to refuse the water, but there was little point. That had all ended with Vidic's threats to drug him and leave him in the animus on an IV. He accepted the water with shaking hands. A plastic cup - no breakable glass in this place.

He poured water down his throat, spilling some, and fought for composure. Stillman cleaned up his vomit in silence, but he knew she was listening to every gulped breath, every choked sob, and his face burned with shame. 

Ezio didn’t have a choice, either, he reminded himself. And he didn’t get to take breaks. If only Michael shared his ancestor’s self-control. The man had a will of steel that would be useful right about now. 

“Michael, I know this doesn’t mean much to you, but if there was any way we could skip this -”

“Save it, Stillman,” he rasped. She had explained the way the repressed horror of this event in Ezio’s life was blocking the animus code from processing other memories; but that didn’t make it any easier to deal with. He wanted to beg her not to make him go through it again. 

Vidic came back into the lab. "Are we done yet? Stand up, Mr White, you're not going to die. Time is of the essence."

"No more today," Stillman said. "Michael, go and lie down. Warren - a word."

Before either of them could speak, Stillman strode into the boardroom, the sound of her footsteps harsh with anger.

The door slid shut and Michael was left in silence. Behind the thick glass it looked like Stillman was giving her boss hell. Again Michael wondered what the hell she was doing at Abstergo. She was precocious, dynamic, clearly ambitious; could probably end up running the company if she wanted to. And yet, the barbarities she subjected him to genuinely seemed to disgust her.

Michael pushed himself to his feet. He should try again to hack the animus while he had the chance. He had seen Stillman access the programming interface from the console, knew it was possible. Maybe he couldn't escape - but there must be something he could do - sabotage the project somehow.

He leaned on the animus to ride out the wave of dizziness he knew was coming. He was getting steadily weaker, his muscles atrophied from weeks of lying in the animus, day in, day out. Combined with the week or so spent refusing food and the past few shitty days and sleepless nights, he knew he was in a bad way. Stillman knew it too, but Vidic had told Michael he had only himself and his own useless protest to blame.

Certainly the hunger strike had left him in no better position than he’d been in before. But some instinct told Michael that wasn’t the point - that there was value in resistance for its own sake. He liked to imagine that Ezio would agree; that there were other ways a man could fight than with a blade.

Except that Ezio would have fought his way out by now. 

Michael’s head fogged as he tapped the animus console, activating the login screen. He could feel another headache coming on - a bad one. He rubbed his temples, looked up - and fear knifed through his stomach. Cesare Borgia stood not a foot away from him, life-size and smirking.

"Fuck." He reeled back. “Not real, not real. Fuck.”

Cesare looked straight at him, and saw him. “Does brave young Piero deserve to suffer for your reticence, Auditore?”

The smell of blood and filth rose around the tall condottiero, thick and real as the torture chamber. Michael ran his hands through his hair. “Got to focus. Focus through the headaches. I can’t get you out of my head, can I? But you’re not real. You’re a construct of the animus, that’s all.” He thought for a moment. “And you have syphilis.” 

Cesare smiled at him, dark eyes alive with malice. ”Where is your base?”

He groaned, then began to laugh at the absurdity of what he was doing. Talking to a dead man. How long would it be before he could no longer resist the images? No longer control his own mind? What if he was sucked back forever, doomed interminably to repeat the memory in an infinite loop? 

Dank brickwork wavered in front of the plate glass windows of the lab. Michael’s head seemed to vibrate for a second, a quick buzz similar to the sensation of desynchronising. In desparation, he thought of Ezio. "You aren't here," he told Cesare, with his ancestor's calm authority and self-assurance. "You're dead. I killed you at Viana."

Cesare glowed and wavered.

"That's right. Get out of here,” Michael said. “Your sister's waiting."

In the boardroom, Vidic and Stillman were still arguing. Stillman took a step to her right, causing Vidic to turn with her, his back to Michael. He had a few more moments.

The animus console swam in front of his eyes. He could read the characters, but they refused to assemble themselves into meaningful words. On a whim, he flipped the language setting to Italian, but it didn't help. The vernacular Ezio had spoken was too different.

One of the problems with this memory - one of the many, many problems - was the opposite of what he'd expected from it. The heightened emotion, the horrifying immediacy of Ezio's memory made him synchronise so well he had trouble disconnecting, even when he left the animus. It often happened that repressed memories were sharper when they were finally uncovered.

And this particular memory left him too shattered and confused to exploit opportunities like this one. Why couldn't they just let him finish the damn memory, get it over with? He crumpled the plastic cup, tossed it on Vidic's desk. It was time to do something differently.


	3. Chapter 3

He pounded the side of his fist on the glass door of the boardroom. There was no way they could have heard it, but Stillman detected movement and looked up.

"Whatever you're cooking up, I've got a better idea," he yelled at them.

Stillman opened the door, shaking off Vidic as he caught her arm to try to stop her.

"What, Michael?" Her face was white with tension.

"I said, I've got a great idea. Why don't you listen to me for once, you fucks? I know I'm just your fucking lab rat, but did you ever think that I might know more about how to stay synched than you do? Every time you put me back in that thing I have to live the whole god damned memory over again -"

"We know, Michael. We were just discussing it -"

"Shut the fuck up, Stillman. I'm the one living this. How many times has that poor kid lost his eye, now? Four? Five? I have no idea. I've lost count. And then you send me back to my room to sleep - how the fuck you think that's possible, I don't even - I haven't slept in days -"

"Michael, you should have said -"

"I _am_ saying." It took all of his willpower to keep his distance, to stop his body language from becoming threatening. The instant he looked like getting violent, security would come running and there was no use getting them involved. The one time he'd taken a swing at Vidic, it hadn't ended well.

"There's no point pulling me out all the time. It's not working, and taking a break doesn't help any."

Vidic cleared his throat, and Michael looked him in the eyes. "And, no, you are not going to put me under," he said quietly. So far, he had managed to convince them to spare him that ultimate indignity; although lately he knew he'd been treading a fine line. There were days even Stillman looked as though she would rather he was unconscious.

"Shut down the failsafe mechanism attached to my vitals, or at least turn off the heart monitor. I'm not some middle-aged fat-ass who's about to have a coronary. Of course my heart rate's going to go up, you morons. He cut my apprentice's eye from his skull. Piero was only there because he came to find me. He was innocent -"

"In English, please, Mr White," said Vidic in a bored tone. He shook his head, looked at Stillman. "Once again, I'm quite sure he does that on purpose, Miss Stillman. There is no way to confirm that your so-called ‘bleeding effect’ even exists when the subject insists on providing us with misinformation and confusing the whole exercise."

"Not now, Warren." She looked at Michael. "It's dangerous, Michael, but I don't see any other way aside from -"

"I'm not going under," he said in a low voice, and it seemed to reach her. Somewhere under the veneer of professional calm lurked a human being.

"Are you sure?"

"Sure I'm sure. I love being tortured. Even better when I get to watch it happen to my friends. But if you'd rather let me go free, well -"

"Michael, please."

"I'm sure. Just get this over with."

For once, the roles in the lab were reversed. Michael wanted to get back into the animus straight away, to deal with this horrendous experience once and for all. But Stillman made him go back to his room to rest. 

“You look awful,” she said.

Michael’s head buzzed, and he twitched, then shook his head to clear the sensation. Stillman was saying something, but for a moment he couldn’t hear. Then she was staring at him.

“What?” He rubbed his eyes.

“You zoned out,” she said. “I’m not going to start the animus again until you at least try to get some rest. If you want something to help you sleep, just ask.”

“No way I’m taking any drugs if I don’t have to. You have enough control of my head as it is.” He laughed, a loud, sudden burst of sound that hung in the air. “At least someone’s got control of it. God, these headaches.”

But she was right. The longer he went without sleep, the harder it became to stop the phantoms of Ezio’s past from overwhelming him in waking dreams; and the harder it was to hold his thoughts in a straight line. He couldn’t fight if he couldn’t think. 

“Get out,” he said, and started to pull off his clothes. As he’d expected, Stillman left quickly, her face tight with alarm. Michael kicked his shoes away and collapsed on his bed.


	4. Chapter 4

From: Lucy Stillman  
To: Warren Vidic  
Date/Time: Aug 10 5:45pm  
Subject: Surveillance footage from today

Warren: 

I've combined some footage from the surveillance cam in the lab this afternoon with the audio from Michael's bug. Video file is attached.

Please look at this. I've made annotations where I notice things that concern me about Michael's mental and emotional state - you'll see what I mean.

\- Lucy

\--------------------------------------

From: Warren Vidic  
To: Lucy Stillman  
Date/Time: Aug 10 6:32pm  
Subject: RE: Surveillance footage from today

can we talk in morning pls. dont have time for this its securitys job. 

u should be busy preparing animus session recordings so we can send to alan rikkin, not wasting time with this crap

\--------------------------------------

From: Lucy Stillman  
To: Warren Vidic  
Date/Time: Aug 10 7:48pm  
Subject: RE: Surveillance footage from today

You'll want to make time for this. Here's a transcript of the footage:

00:0:32 Fuck  
00:0:36 Not real, not real. Fuck  
00:1:01 Got to focus. Focus through the headaches ... [*unintelligible*] ... You're not real  
00:1:16 You're a construct of the animus, that's all  
00:1:36 And you have syphilis  
00:2:14 TRANSLATION: You aren't here, you're dead  
00:2:20 TRANSLATION: I killed you at Viana

Warren, this is very concerning, particularly the last two timestamps. It supports what I've been saying about the bleeding effect. Please review this footage - he’s getting worse.

\- Lucy

\--------------------------------------

From: Warren Vidic  
To: Lucy Stillman  
Date/Time: Aug 10 7:50pm  
Subject: RE: Surveillance footage from today

fine, loading it now. can u fix this, quicktime wont shut the upgrade window. don't know why it keeps doing this

\--------------------------------------

From: Lucy Stillman  
To: Warren Vidic  
Date/Time: Aug 10 7:54pm  
Subject: RE: Surveillance footage from today

Right-click it and open with a different player, then call helpdesk afterwards and have them correct your file associations. Like you said, I need to prepare the animus recordings.

\--------------------------------------

From: Warren Vidic  
To: Lucy Stillman  
Date/Time: Aug 10 8:15pm  
Subject: RE: Surveillance footage from today

lucy - pls drop bleeding effect stuff and focus on animus recordings. this equipment was developed by qualified, EXPERIENCED scientists. i know u think u could do better but the team is world class & noone else has ever reported these kinds of side effects in any tests

\--------------------------------------

From: Lucy Stillman  
To: Warren Vidic  
Date/Time: Aug 10 8:18pm  
Subject: RE: Surveillance footage from today

That's because no-one else was TORTURED in the animus. 

Also, I saw Michael have what looked like a mild seizure this afternoon. I checked in his file and he was seeing one of the neurologists here - what happened with that? Can I make another appointment for him?

\--------------------------------------

From: Warren Vidic  
To: Lucy Stillman  
Date/Time: Aug 10 8:25pm  
Subject: RE: Surveillance footage from today

no its b/c hes faking it, hes admitted it before

yes u can make an appt with susan but not this week, he needs to finish the current mem sequence first. might give u some incentive to stop indulging his delaying tactics!!!

\--------------------------------------

From: Warren Vidic  
To: Lucy Stillman  
Date/Time: Aug 10 8:55pm  
Subject: RE: Surveillance footage from today

can u come here & uninstall quicktime pls helpdesk is unattended

\--------------------------------------

From: Anand Prasad  
To: Warren Vidic  
Date/Time: Aug 11 6:55am  
Subject: Failed manual login attempts with your userID

Warren,

While performing routine analysis of the animus console logs, we've found hundreds of failed manual signons for "wvidic". I'm assuming you and your assistant didn't enter these login attempts which leaves your test subject.

I've attached links to the intranet so you can refresh your memory re: where Abstergo stands on leaving test subjects unsupervised, but the policy is pretty simple really: Don't.

Thanks,  
Anand

\---  
Anand Prasad  
Senior Information Security Analyst


	5. Chapter 5

Michael dreamed, and spiralled.  
 _  
“...Three simple tenets, which you seem to forget. I will remind you. First and foremost, stay your blade -”_

_“- from the flesh of an innocent,” Altaïr interjected. He did not need this lesson. He was not a child. “I know.”_

_Al Mualim slapped him; a light blow, intended to shame him rather than to cause pain. “And stay your tongue, unless I give you leave to use it. If you are so familiar with this tenet, why did you kill the old man inside the Temple? He was innocent...”_

The barriers were dissolving. Michael could not tell where Ezio’s memories ended and Altaïr’s began. Where he ended, and his ancestors began. He was completely alone, without allies, without a plan; and he was terrified. _I can’t handle this. I can’t._

_  
“I am not a traitor.”_

_“Your actions indicate otherwise. And so you leave me no choice. Peace be upon you, Altaïr.”_

Michael stood on the road to Arsuf, the air thick with dust and the smell of men and horses. All was confusion. Men and armies set in motion; cities besieged and sacked. A war that could not be understood through the narrow gaze of men.  
 _  
“Assassin!” Richard Coeur de Lion, King of England, realised to whom he spoke. “What is the meaning of this? And be quick with it.”_

_“You’ve a traitor in your midst...”_

_“...A serious allegation, coming from a thief. What proof do you have?”_

_“He was an ambassador to the Papal court, and travelled as a personal guest of Cesare Borgia himself.”_

_“Machiavelli may not please all tastes, but he is an Assassin...”_

What year was it? What century was it? 

Who the hell was he?

***

“Work to do, Mr White. Rise and shine.”

Michael groaned and struggled into consciousness. If it were possible, he felt more exhausted than when he’d gone to bed. Vidic stood over him, sipping from a mug of coffee. There was something different about his expression - it was colder, more calculating. Michael wondered how long he’d been standing there, whether he’d said something in his sleep.

“Not today, Warren, I have a headache.”

“Very funny. Get up.” Vidic sniffed. “And, I’ll remind you that you have a shower adjoining your room for a reason.”

Michael decided to take Vidic’s unsubtle hint about his personal hygiene absolutely seriously, and stayed under the hot water with his head pressed against the tiles. He wandered into the lab half an hour later. 

Vidic handed him a bowl of cereal. He played with the spoon, too nauseous to eat. “Is the animus cornflake-resistant?” he wondered. “Should we find out? It could be important.”

“The only thing that should be important from your perspective, Mr White, is finishing that memory. The sooner you find a way to stay synchronised, the sooner we can move Ezio on to more pleasant times.”

“I’ll make a deal with you,” Michael said, setting down his bowl on the animus. Vidic removed it without comment. “I’ll stay synched through the Spanish Inquisition if you’ll plug me into the fivesome at Sister Teodora’s.”

“Mr White, I realise that as you’re a computer programmer with no social aptitude whatsoever, Ezio’s more colourful memories represent a possibly unique opportunity for you. But once again, the animus is a highly advanced piece of scientific research equipment - it is not your personal porn machine.”

Michael’s next smartass remark was lost behind a surge of pain through his head that left him gasping, a hand over his eyes. When he looked up, Vidic was watching him.

“We do have a deadline, you know,” he said. “If this memory proves to be too much for you, I won’t hesitate to drug you or even induce a coma. I’ll do whatever I need to do.”

***

"Are you sure you don't want to eat something before we start?" Stillman asked Michael, her face full of concern.

"So you can clean it off the floor when we're done? You really do like to give yourself extra work."

"Okay, Michael." She shook her head, punching buttons on the animus console. "Lie down when you're ready. I've turned off the auto-desynch, but we'll still be monitoring your vitals. Don't worry - I'll pull you out if something goes wrong."

He lay down on the animus. Soft clicks as the machine configured itself to his body. Immediately, Michael began to sweat, his heart thumping in sudden panic. This was normal, now. It had started happening after the first time he'd attempted the torture memory.

Just like a lab rat.

"Breathing," Stillman reminded, and he schooled himself from rapid, shallow breaths to slow, deep ones.

Stillman handed him a face mask, attached via a tube to the animus. "Put this on."

"You're joking, right?"

"There's nothing flowing through it right now. I've spoken to Warren, and we agreed that you'll remain conscious. But if your breathing gets out of control, I'm going to need a way to keep you calm."

"I'm not wearing it, Stillman," Michael said.

She frowned. He knew it bothered her that he refused to use her first name, but it was simply one small way he had found to resist. Any hint of warmth he showed her brought him closer to cooperation with Abstergo. It would be easier if she'd just been an asshole like Vidic, but Stillman kept reaching out to him, determinedly compassionate, no matter how many times he rebuffed her.

"I know you have no reason to trust me," she said.

"You're right. I don't trust you."

"Michael, Ezio repressed this memory completely. It was extremely traumatic -"

"No shit, was it really? I'm not wearing it."

Stillman threw up her hands, helpless. "Fine. I'll just have to pull you out if you hyperventilate, and we'll start this whole thing again. Your choice."

"In that case, can I choose not to do this at all? I don't remember seeing a 'let me out of this shit-hole' option on the consent form. Maybe because I never signed one."

Vidic had wandered to the other side of the room, impatient but unwilling to interfere. Michael had made sure that his "input" only ever made things slower, and eventually Vidic had learned to let his assistant operate the animus. A small victory, but Michael exploited every division between the scientists that he could find.

"You know, I can't wait until this place gets audited. Although I have a suspicion it's linked to some part of the government anyway. That true, Stillman?"

"Michael, please -"

"Why are you doing this?" Michael asked her, his voice low and intense. "You believe in what you're doing? Or are you just following orders?"

"There are things you don't understand," she said, her voice suddenly cold. "But right now, if you want to stay conscious, I need you to cooperate."

The screen slid down over his face, and Michael fought the second wave of his physiological reactions to the animus. His palms and fingertips were wet on the contact points, and his shirt soon stuck to his back. The heart monitor beeped in warning, then subsided.

"I understand one thing pretty well," Michael said as his vision dimmed and he smelled the familiar blood and filth of the torture chamber. The walls of the Castel Sant'Angelo came slowly into focus. "You're a fucking coward."


	6. Chapter 6

“Where is your base, Ezio Auditore?”

The tip of Cesare’s dagger worked its way under the fingernail of Ezio’s left index finger. With a quick twist of the blade, he flicked the nail off. Ezio sank his teeth into his own lower lip and bit down.

Michael tasted blood. Having done this so many times before, he wondered whether he might be able to dissociate from the pain, but that wasn’t the right word for what he was doing.

The animus tutorials had stressed the importance of immersion, of forgetting yourself, letting the life of your ancestor subsume you. From the start, Michael had done so effortlessly. It helped that Ezio had such a strong personality. In fact, if he ever got out of the lab, Michael suspected he would miss his ancestor dearly. He had grown to deeply respect and admire the Assassin. It was an honour to live his memories - and when Ezio wasn’t having a day as shitty as this one, it was easy to want to be him. To rally to his cause. He wondered if Abstergo had thought of that - they could hardly have found a better way to recruit him to side of the Assassins than to force him to relive the memories of Ezio Auditore.

Now Michael was finding that, contrary to the animus tutorial briefings, he could be himself and Ezio at the same time without desynchronising. He was in the past and the present simultaneously - lucid in both.

”Where is your base?” The dagger tip eased under another fingernail.

Ezio shuddered and looked over Cesare’s shoulder, focusing on the brick wall behind the Templar. He had been playing a game, to distract himself - imagining that the marks on the wall formed shapes, like letters, words in a strange language. He slid into his eagle’s sight and it seemed as though the letters glowed white-hot. He stared at them until they burned into his soul.

When the guards brought Piero, Michael watched in agony from Ezio’s eyes and his own. At the point where Ezio’s heart began to pound frantically, he listened with dread for the animus voice but heard only poor Piero’s sobs. He was through.

***

“You made it, Michael,” Lucy said, as the animus screen slid away. 

Michael lay still. He was crying openly, and he didn’t care.

“After Ezio was returned to his cell, I managed to create a save point.” Lucy pushed his hair back from his eyes to examine them. “You’ll never have to go through that again.”

He had no memory of being moved to his room, but some time later found himself huddled on his bed with a sense of overwhelming isolation and despair. Now that the immediate task of conquering the memory had been achieved, he had no plan, no strategy. He drifted into sleep, into dreams of the horrors of Roma, feeling utterly alone.

***

“Where is your Brotherhood now, _stronzo_? No-one is coming for you.” 

Ezio leaned against the stone wall of his cell to ease his aching back. 

"We aren't supposed to let him do that," said the taller of his guards.

"Go in there yourself and beat him, then," said the other. “Why do you think we're doing double shifts? He's already killed four other guards."

The Assassin moved to the iron bars and gripped them so he would not fall down. It gave him a distinct sense of satisfaction to see both men back away. 

"Listen to me," Ezio said. "Piero is no more than a boy; he knows nothing. Take me back to Cesare."

Both guards laughed. "Don't worry. We will."

***

When Michael woke it was night, and Warren Vidic was standing in his doorway.

“I want to speak to Lucy,” he said, sitting up. This couldn’t be good.

“Miss Stillman isn’t working tonight,” Vidic told him. “Move him out, please.” Vidic stood aside as four security guards entered Michael’s room to roll him to his front. 

“Fuck - get off - _stronzi_.” Michael struggled as his hands were pulled behind his back and secured quickly with plastic cuffs. 

“You had every chance to cooperate,” Vidic said. “You knew the animus console was off limits. Attempting to break into our system was really the last straw. You’re a liability, Mr White, and I believe you’d be less so in a coma.” 

“No - no. Lucy! Don’t let them do this. Lucy!”

There was a sharp pain in the side of his neck, and he blacked out.

***

The day - or evening, or morning; it was all the same to Ezio - wore on. Eventually he found that he was unable to remain standing, and collapsed in a corner. The taller guard picked up a loose stone and made to throw it at him, but the shorter, more intelligent one caught his arm. "Idiot! Do you mean to give him a weapon, and make his tally six?"

The tall guard shrugged, and had the grace to look ashamed. "Well, we should do something. He isn't allowed to sleep."

"He's not sleeping. Hey - Assassin!"

Ezio grunted.

"We'll let you rest there, all right? But you have to get up if anyone comes."

With that agreement made, Ezio was permitted to remain lying on the floor. He dozed fitfully, thinking of Piero, mad with guilt. Ezio told himself that he had known other fighters with an eye missing. Mario Auditore, for one; a formidable man. His apprentice would recover. Find his own way. He was an Assassin, after all.

He stirred at the sound of a heavy thunk. When he looked up, his guards were lying on the floor.

He pushed himself into a wary crouch. Nothing good had happened to him since he entered the Castel Sant'Angelo, and he could scarcely believe that his luck had changed for the better. Then he saw the familiar shape of the throwing knife embedded in the throat of the taller man. He looked at the other - a crossbow bolt was buried precisely between his eyes. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, hope burned low in his belly.

A small hooded shadow slipped in front of his cell door, and Emiliana Santi began to pick the lock. Two larger shapes guarded her back.

"That was your crossbow bolt," Ezio rasped. She was an expert marksman; one of his best. He stood, smiling.

"You know my work, Maestro," she said, grinning back. As though trying to raise the alarm, the barred cell door screeched as she pulled it open, just enough for him to leave the cell.

"We cleared the way as best we could, but we may have to fight our way to Piero," Emiliana said. "Can you walk?"

"Yes." Thank God he had been able to rest a little. "How do you know where he is?"

"We heard him screaming," she said shortly.

"Give me a blade," said Ezio, but Emiliana was already pressing the hilt of a short dagger against his palm. His shoulders had stiffened, and he prayed that his arms would work enough for him to fight.

"This way." Emiliana signalled to her brothers. Bastiano scouted ahead, and Vittorio paced behind, as the Assassins moved out.


	7. Chapter 7

It was too late to save Piero.

Bastiano found his cell quickly enough, and seeing his ruined face and body, turned back to Ezio and the others looking pale and sick. Piero was dying, and the sooner his suffering ended, the better. 

"I'm sorry," Ezio said, crouching beside his apprentice. He smoothed back his hair, looked into his single dazed brown eye for the last time. Then he pushed the blade into his throat, quick and clean. 

" _Requiescat in pace_. It was an honour to fight beside you, brother." He gently closed Piero’s eye, then stood up. "It is done." He put a hand to his head and stumbled. Vittorio, tall and broad-shouldered, caught him easily.

"No, I can walk," Ezio said. Then he fainted.

***

He woke beneath the stars to clean air that smelled of rain, and the sound of his apprentices conversing in subdued whispers. The night was chilly, but of course, they could not risk a campfire. He stirred, rubbing his aching head, and his brothers fell silent. 

Bastiano was at his side in an instant. "Here's water," he murmured, and held Ezio's head so he could drink. Emiliana and Vittorio watched from the shadows. Ezio seemed to have acquired several extra cloaks, layered over him like blankets, while his apprentices were missing theirs. He realised that he could not see Piero.

"Piero," he said, raising himself up on one elbow. Pain lanced through his body.

"I know, Maestro." Bastiano pushed his chest gently down. "Lie back. Don't try to talk." 

Ezio submitted to the first instruction, but not the second. "What do you mean, you know? What happened to Piero?" he persisted. "Did you find him?"

His apprentices stared at him, then looked at each other. 

"What is the matter?" he demanded. "Tell me what happened to your brother."

"Piero is dead, Maestro," Emiliana said softly.

Ezio laid a hand over his eyes. "How?"

"Cesare's men captured him."

"I hope he did not get the same as I did." He shuddered. "Was it quick?"

"Si," said all three of his apprentices at once.

"Thank God." Ezio slumped. "I do not suppose we could recover his body?"

"Not without compromising the Brotherhood," Emiliana said. "I'm sorry." She touched his arm. "Rest, Maestro. In the morning we will need to move quickly."

He heard his apprentices quickly discuss sentry duty. Vittorio and Bastiano bedded down on either side of Ezio, close enough that he could feel their body heat, while 

Emiliana took the first watch.

"Thank you, Emiliana," he said to her a while later.

"What for, Maestro?" The whites of her eyes flashed in the darkness.

"I was beginning to think I would die, there."

"Did you really think we would not come for you?" she said. "Have faith. We are with you until the end." She turned back to scan the area with sharp attentive eyes. "Now be quiet, so I can listen."

He obeyed. 

***

Subject Sixteen drifted in the animus, drugged and spiralling without control. It was getting easier to slide out of himself and into the data. He had infinite time, now, and thought of many things - of gods and ancient wars, and the limits of human knowledge. But mostly, he thought of a Brotherhood that echoed through history - and he knew that like Ezio, he would never be alone again.


End file.
